Why Turning 34 Just Plain Sucked

Well it happened. My birthday that is. Last Friday was the big 3-4. Definitely not a milestone but one year closer to being that much closer to 40. I'm not afraid of turning 40 but it's looming on the horizon a lot quicker than I anticipated.

To say I enjoyed my birthday is like saying the bear in the Great Outdoors enjoyed getting shot in the butt. It definitely did not make my top 10 birthdays. It didn't start off horrible. I kept Rowan out of daycare so he could go down to old daycare and play with the kids. Our old daycare lady is retiring this week so I wanted to give her a chance to hang out with him again. So I dropped him off for a couple of hours and went shopping. I made myself feel better that it was my birthday but snagging myself a lovely new handbag. Picture glitter where the lace is and you'll have a general idea of what it looks like.

The afternoon wasn't too bad, either, except for the fact that Rowan didn't actually sleep during naptime. So what did he do when we were driving to Apple Valley to go out for supper? Why sleep of course. We had to run a couple of errands first so we took turns sitting in the car with him so he'd get some decent sleep. You would have thought that would have helped once he actually woke up, but alas, it did not.

Dinner was less than pleasant. It was one meltdown after another ranging from not wanting to eat any fruit to freaking out because the chicken was on his plate even though I finally told him he didn't have to eat it because I was tired of fighting with him. The best part was getting a free birthday burger out of the deal.

Afterwards we went to a friend's house for dessert, where the fun of having a crabby three-year old continued. Rowan started the evening by pulling out an irrigation tube that had just got installed (luckily Brian and Glenn got it back in) and ended it with a full-on screaming and crying meltdown because we wouldn't let him have a mini sundae cone because he didn't actually finish his push up. Yeah, we're mean parents.

I was sick of dealing with him at this point so we loaded him in the car and went home. Home was 10 minutes away. That entire 10 minutes was filled with screaming about how he wasn't going to go into timeout or go to bed, that he was a good listener, and how he still wanted that sundae cone. At one point I had to bite my lip so that I wouldn't start crying because I was so tired of listening to him.

We've been trying very hard to not argue back because it doesn't do any good. That works in theory but at some point you just hit your breaking point. And of course, being pregnant amplifies everything x 10. I know it's just a phase he's going through. He's three, for god's sake. But I'm struggling enough with the added hormones, not being able to take my anxiety medication, and still dealing with house crap after 5 months and I don't know how much more I can take. I know we're given what God thinks we can handle and apparently he thinks I can tolerate a lot but I'm over it all. This baby cannot get here quick enough.

So, there you have it. It was definitely one of the crappier birthdays I've had but I got lots of well wishes through texts, phone calls, and Facebook, which definitely helped. One more year in the books. At least next year I can actually drink on my birthday.